


The Wisdom to Know the Difference

by orangesandlemons



Category: Private Practice
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesandlemons/pseuds/orangesandlemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Addison has some things to say to Charlotte and Violet, and some things to not say to Amelia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wisdom to Know the Difference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



> Hope you'll like this ladies-only Private Practice fic, recip! (I hope you like dialogue because there is a lot of dialogue.) Small point: I think I may have gotten some timeline issues wrong, but I hope none of it is too egregious. If it is, please forgive me. Enjoy!

Addison was in the lobby when the elevator opened, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Hey," Charlotte said, stepping out. "Didn't expect to see you here. What're you doin' here so late?"

Addison hesitated, catching her breath. "I – um. Late patient," she said after a moment.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm just stoppin' in myself. Ran over my shift at St. Ambrose. Just here to grab my stuff before I head to –"

"A meeting. With Amelia. I know." Addison hesitated again. “It’s just — Charlotte, we need to talk.”

“Right now? Addison, I really gotta go. I can’t be flaking out on meetings with Amelia. Not now.”

“Why don't you call someone else? Call Sheldon. He'll go with her.”

“OK, leavin' aside how that's the worst idea in the world right now, it's a closed meeting. Have to be an addict to go. So can we just —”

“ _No,_ " Addison said, voice strong all of a sudden. “No, we need to talk now.”

Charlotte stopped in mid-stride, turning to face Addison. “What? Addison, what’s going on?”

“I just — there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“So you said. What is it?”

Addison took a deep breath and forced herself to look up, into Charlotte’s eyes. “You need to stop this, Charlotte. It's just — it's wrong, and you know it. You have to stop.”

"Stop what?" Charlotte said, sounding bewildered. "Going to meetings?"

“Go to all the meetings you want, but go by yourself. Amelia can find someone else to go with. Help her find a sponsor. That's what she needs. Not -- not what you're doing. Okay?”

"What in blazes are you talkin' about?" Charlotte stared, still nonplussed but picking up some irritation nevertheless. "What is it you think I'm doing?"

Addison huffed out a sharp breath. "Charlotte, let's just -- I don’t want to play this game. Okay?”

“I'm not playin' any games. I’m askin' you what the hell you're talkin' about.”

“Okay, seriously, I don’t...” Addison took a long breath, twining her hands together. “All right, let me start again. The thing is, I don’t even know why I’m having to say all this, Charlotte. Because there’s nothing I can say that you don’t know better than I do. Amelia -- she’s really vulnerable right now. Her boyfriend died and she got out of rehab just weeks ago and she's scared she’s not up to this. Any of it. She needs to be focusing on her sobriety -- *only* on her sobriety. That's all that matters. We need to clear the way for her, help make that happen.”

“You're right," Charlotte said, raising an eyebrow. “I do know all of that better than you. Your point?”

“My point is that you know better than to be doing this now! You’re the big AA expert, the -- the perfect little model recovered addict —”

“In recovery," Charlotte said, watching Addison closely, her hackles rising immediately at the resentment in Addison's tone. “If you're an addict you’re never ‘recovered’. Not till the day you die. And if you wanna tell me what you're gettin' at —”

“I mean, isn’t it the big mantra in AA? No big life changes in the first year. No big moves, job changes... no dating.”

“So? Believe me, I’m not telling her to... oh. Oh, hold on." Recognition began to dawn on Charlotte’s face. “You’re tellin' me - you think Amelia and I are _datin’_?”

She started to laugh.

"I'm glad you think this is so funny," Addison said furiously. "Is this really just a joke to you? Because if it is –"

"You're damn right this is a joke to me! You think we're – what, _lesbians_? Her and me, together?” She broke into fresh laughter. "How in the world did you come up with that one?"

"I told you, I'm not playing this game!" Addison’s eyes were sparking now; she took a step toward Charlotte. "I saw you in the elevator."

Charlotte waited for more; Addison glared at her, silent. "That's your big evidence?" Charlotte said after a moment. "You saw us in an elevator? People take elevators, Addison."

"Not pressed up against each other like that, they don't. Laughing together, her hand an inch from your thigh -- Charlotte, you had your tongue in her ear!"

Charlotte paused for a second, expression thoughtful. "Addison, I have to tell you, if you're hallucinatin' things now we need to look at your surgical privileges at St. Ambrose."

"Yesterday, Charlotte. End of the day? I was leaving? Considering what you two were up to, I told you I'd get the next one."

"Oh, whoa. Wait a minute," Charlotte said, understanding dawning on her face amid the hilarity. "That? Addison, I was whispering in her ear. That's all.”

"Whispering? Why would you be whispering to her?"

"Because your makeup was smudged under one of your eyes and it looked like someone popped you one," Charlotte said coolly. "You need to dial it back on the eyeliner, sister."

"Oh, sure. I'm supposed to believe that?" Unconsciously, she swiped a finger under her eye. "Charlotte, come on. You're with her all the time. All the meetings, yeah, but all the other times, too. She lives with me, for God's sake, I know how often you're over, sitting together, holding hands –"

"It's called bein' a friend, Addison. Maybe sometime you could get your head outta your ass and try it for a change."

"Don't you _dare_ tell me I'm not a friend to Amelia!" Addison jerked, almost-visible electricity snapping through her body. "I have been there for her for years! I was there for her the first time this happened, a decade and a half before you ever knew she existed. I supported her, I nursed her through the worst hangovers and I held her when she broke down and I made her go to meetings and –"

"And now you're afraid of some competition?"

"Don't talk to me like that, Charlotte, I swear to God, or I'll –"

“You'll what?" Charlotte said, heated, her voice still half an octave below Addison’s, “I know you're not threatening me. Because one, I’m your boss up at the hospital, and two, the both of us know I can kick your ass any day of the week.”

Addison stopped, took a few deep breaths. "Look," she said eventually, "all I'm saying is this is a pattern. I know what's happening. I was here the first time. Amelia gets into a vulnerable place and she starts looking for someone, and suddenly it doesn't matter who it is – male, female, anyone." Charlotte opened her mouth, but Addison was still rolling. "And I don't know what's going on in your life, Charlotte, but whatever it is, it isn't healthy. It isn't fair to Cooper, and ultimately, it isn't fair to you. Look –" She hesitated for a fraction of a second; when she picked up again her voice was lower, her eyes carefully avoiding Charlotte's. "I know all this started last year. You and Amelia, you started getting -- close — right after you were... well, you know...”

Charlotte's gaze went sharp and hard. “Yeah, I do know," she said, the words heavy with venom. “I was raped. Seems a little silly to be scared of the word if you're not scared to drag it into this mess of bullshit, Addison. I'd think twice right now if I were you.”

"I'm not _dragging_ it into anything. And I'm not judging. Honest, I'm not. I just… Look, I know that's something that happens for a lot of – survivors. Something awful happens, it shakes up your world, and some people start... losing boundaries. Acting out… you know… s--"

"I am gonna stop you there, before you say one more word," Charlotte’s voice was frigid and perfectly level. "I'm gonna pretend these last thirty seconds – they never happened. I would advise you to do the same."

After a second, Addison nodded, her gaze on the floor again.

"All right. Seeing as they never happened, I'm gonna go back to what you were saying before. About this – pattern you're seeing. Amelia all vulnerable, reachin' out, gettin' the wrong person -- female or male, doesn't matter. I know about that pattern." She paused. "But what’s going on now – that isn't anything to do with that pattern. It's got nothing to do with it, because that pattern doesn't happen when she's sober. That pattern happens when she's using." She let a longer pause go by. When she spoke, her voice was calm and level. “And I know what this is about, Addison."

“Oh, and what is it you think you know?"

“I know it's nothin' to do with me. It’s about you. You and her... and a bit of history between you.”

Addison's eyes widened, the color draining from her face. A telltale five seconds went by, Charlotte staring straight at Addison, Addison’s eyes wide and panicked. “I... I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally. “I'm -- she's a sister to me. You know that.”

“Actually, what you're always saying is ‘closer than a sister,’” Charlotte said. “Doesn’t leave room for much else, does it?”

“You know that’s not what I mean!”

“And I'm telling you, I know what happened between the two of you.” She took a step toward the elevator -- Addison looked ready to bolt. “She told me.”

“She _told_ you?! God, how could she...” Addison's next words were muffled, her face in her hands.

“She’s in recovery, and recovery means dealing with your shit. She’s told me a lot about the worst stuff that’s gone on when she's using. Sleeping with her sister-in-law qualifies.”

“That was -- it was fifteen years ago, Charlotte!”

“Still happened. And judging by this conversation, you're still hung up on it.”

“I am not!”

“Save your breath, Addison." Charlotte straightened her shoulders, her posture indicating an end to the conversation. “I don’t know what’s goin' on with you, why this is coming up now, and I don’t really care. Go deal with it on your own time. I’ve got a meeting to get to." She wheeled around, heading for her office, then half-turned back. “And don’t you say one goddamn word to Amelia.” She gave Addison an assessing look; Addison’s head was back in her hands now. “Someone told me lately that she’s got to be focusing on her recovery.”

“I won’t," came the muffled answer.

“Good.” Charlotte left the lobby without another word. Addison leaned back against the wall, letting out a long breath. A few tears trickled down her face from under closed eyelids, and she bit her lip, willing herself to keep it together. After a second, it registered with her that Charlotte was going to be back any minute, purse in hand, heading for the elevator. She jerked upright and started for her own office -- someplace to cry, someplace to think, someplace to punch things and throw things and yell at the walls until she was ready to go home. Home -- it dawned on her slowly — where Amelia was.

On second thought, maybe she’d spend the night in the office.

She started down the hall, trying to keep her mind on where she could get blankets and pillows for the night, thinking of nothing but Amelia. She was halfway down the hall when she registered that there was a light on in one of the offices, then jumped a mile as a voice rang out behind her: “Can I help?”

She whirled to face the speaker, stifling a scream. There was Violet, looking a little rumpled and tired, running a hand through her hair. “Hey, Addison," she said -- rather belatedly, it seemed to Addison. “I heard you talking to Charlotte.” Addison froze, terrified: how much had Violet heard? “Sounded like you could use someone to talk to. Can I help?” she asked again.

Addison snapped out of it, acutely aware that her face was covered in tears and running makeup. “No, Violet, you can’t,” she said abruptly. Anger vied with humiliation as the image hit her: Violet, crouched in a hallway just off the lobby, avidly devouring every word of that hideous conversation. “What you can do is stop listening around corners like some kind of ghoul, drinking in every horribly embarrassing thing they say until they -- you —” She shoved her hair off her forehead, unable to pull another coherent word out of the turmoil in her mind. “Screw you, Violet," she said instead, and whirled around, heading for the elevators again.

“I think Charlotte’s at the elevator now,” Violet called after her, and Addison whirled back furiously. “You probably want to wait a few minutes.”

“Yes, thanks for the tip. Hey, look, now you helped. Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you came in to talk with me for a minute,” Violet said.

“I’m not going to come talk to you because there’s nothing to talk about.”

“I don’t know. It sounded like there was a lot to talk about to me.”

“Not that I’m going to talk to _you_ about! God, you shrinks! What happened, haven’t you pried into your quota of heads today? Someone miss a session, so you have to get on my case? I'm not your patient, Violet."

“No. You're not." Violet paused for a second. “You're my friend.”

Addison gave her the finger, then strode down the hallway into her office. She slammed the door and threw herself down on the couch, fingers scrabbling over an accent pillow. A second later there was a light knock on the door, and then it opened a few inches, Violet's face peering in. Addison threw the pillow at her, missed, and buried her face in her hands again.

“Addison, look." Violet eased the door open and slipped through, her voice calm and measured and maddeningly therapeutic. “If it makes you feel better, I’m only here because I’m hiding out from Pete. I have Sheldon’s stupid charts to do, but I could do them at home. I just...”

“Can't be around Pete right now, because he hates you. I got it. How is you putting your problems on me too supposed to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know. So you know you're not alone.”

“Violet, believe me, I am _alone_." She shot Violet a glare; Violet absorbed it with perfect placidity, waiting for more. “Come back and we’ll talk when you —” She broke off, eyeing Violet warily, not sure how much she’d heard.

“Sleep with my baby sister-in-law?” Violet suggested, and Addison hit the desk with her hand.

“Damn it!”

“It isn’t the worst thing in the world, Addison,” she said. “Things like this... they happen.”

“Yeah. They happen to me. When it comes to relationships, I am the worst, okay? I am the absolute worst. If it can be screwed up, I screw it up. If there’s someone I absolutely under no circumstances should ever sleep with, hey, watch me go! And -- oh my God, I”m actually talking to you,” she said, seething. “Would you just go?”

“Okay," Violet said, standing up. “I’m going to go out and get us both a cup of tea, all right? Then I’ll —”

“A cup of _tea_? Are you demented?”

“Some of your green juice then. Whatever. I'll get us something to drink and give you a minute and then we can talk.” She rose and left the room, throwing a glance over her shoulder.

“I’m not going to talk to you," Addison yelled at her back.

But when Violet was back, Addison was sitting on the couch glumly, her resistance gone. “I just don’t know what to do anymore," she said, staring at the table. “I don’t even understand what's going on. I don’t know why I talked to Charlotte, I don’t know why I’m thinking about any of this, I just -- I’m lost, Violet. Totally lost." She sneaked a glance up at Violet as she picked up her glass of juice. Violet was sitting on one of the chairs, sipping her tea and looking quite at home. At least she hadn’t decided to sit behind the desk.

“I can venture a theory," Violet said, lowering her teacup.

“Of course you can. Have you ever not had a theory?”

“You said the... what happened between you and Amelia was fifteen years ago, right?”

“More or less.”

“You said you were there for her when she was getting sober. You said Amelia’s vulnerable then, looking for someone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But then Charlotte said that Amelia has a pattern of looking for someone, male or female, when she’s using. So —”

“God, what were you doing, taking notes back there?”

“So what I’m inferring from all this is that when you... uh, trysted with Amelia —”

_“Trysted?”_

“— it was right before she stopped using the first time.”

“Right. Excellent deduction, Dr. Turner."

“Well, and now we’re back in that place again, aren’t we?”

“Who’s this _we_?”

“Amelia’s just coming out of a bad patch. The person you were seeing when she was using was the same person you knew all those years ago.”

Addison straightened up as if to retort, then sagged into the couch. “Yes. That’s it. That person...that -- whatever it is that Amelia turns into when she’s using -- I hadn’t seen her in fifteen years. Only..." She fell silent, sucking in her lower lip.

“Only what?” Violet asked gently.

“Well...” It came out in a rush. “Last time she wasn't like that - _at me_. She was so awful to so many people, but me...she was _never_ like that with me. I talked to her, I held her hair out of her face when she threw up, I talked to her some more, I -- I mean, Violet, I was there for her.”

“And you slept with her,” Violet said softly.

Addison’s head jerked up. “That was -- it wasn't the same thing! I didn’t mean...”

“It's okay, Addison. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”

“You didn't need to. I know how bad it was, all right? Believe me, I know.”

Violet cocked her head thoughtfully. “Was it?”

“Violet, if you're asking for details —”

“Oh, no, no, that wasn't what I meant! I —” Violet laughed; Addison didn't join in. “Sorry. What I meant was -- you're telling me what a ‘bad thing’ it was that you did.”

“Sleeping with an active addict who was like a little sister to me? Yeah, I’d say it was pretty bad.”

“The thing is,” Violet said after a pause, “sometimes life can't be summed up that neatly, you know? You're making it sound like you just jumped into Amelia’s bed and said ‘Hey, active addict, do you want to have sex with your almost-big sister?” Unwillingly, Addison cracked a smile. “And I know that's not what happened.”

“So... you want to know what happened.”

“Not the details." Violet smiled. “But yes. I’m interested. And I think maybe it would be good for you to hear your own story. I think maybe you’ve forgotten some of it.”

Addison leaned back for a moment, eyes closed. “It was... it wasn’t good,” she said at last.

“I know. You told me that. What happened?”

“It was just... I mean, I was with Derek at the time, and... you know what I can’t handle? I can't handle that it's what Bizzy did. The exact same thing. I didn’t just get the cheater gene, I got the _lesbian_ cheater gene.”

“Would you call yourself a lesbian?” Violet asked, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.

“No, Definitely not now. Back then... I don’t know. I guess not. I really was into Derek. But it was college and there were parties and...”

“College-age experimentation with one’s sexuality isn't at all uncommon.”

“Thanks for putting it in the shrink terms. It was... you know, I don’t really feel like getting into it. I don't think I need to. It was in college, I enjoyed it, and then I finished college and went to med school and I didn't have time for any -- fooling around. I made a choice. I just decided... you know what, if I come across a woman I’m -- attracted to, I’m just turning the other way. I’m not going to do that anymore.” Violet leaned forward as if to ask a question; Addison ignored her. “So, you know, most of those times, those -- girls, I just let them go. But the thing with Amy...”

She fell silent. After a moment she looked up at Violet, for once wanting her to talk. Violet stared back, her face pleasantly neutral.

“It wasn't like the other girls," Addison said finally. “I saw her come in and I knew she was drunk. No pills, not that night, I don’t think. She was drunk and she was crying, and I went to hold her, the same way I always did. I pulled her close to me, and she was crying into my shirt.” Addison’s voice was quieter and more measured now, her gaze far-off. “I remember feeling my chest getting wet from her tears, and after a moment she shifted, put her head in my lap. And I pulled the wet part of my shirt away from my chest. And she was looking up, and I guess she saw, and thought -- I don’t know -- and she...”

“No details,” Violet said hastily.

Addison let out a short half-laugh. “No details. But it was... not the same as with anyone else. She needed me so much, I could feel how much she needed me. Needed _me_ ,” she repeated. “We were so close, and then she needed this... new kind of closeness that night. So I was there for her.”

“Like you always were.”

“Like I always was. Only naked.” Addison started, coming to herself, and then looked up at Violet in time to see the wince. “Sorry. No details, I know.”

“Well, I could infer that one," Violet said, regaining her composure. “Sorry, I can usually discuss intimate details of sex until I’m blue in the face, but when it’s coworkers...”

“I know. Same here. Delete.”

“And... without many details -- did you enjoy it?”

Addison looked down at her lap, cheeks reddening. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Violet said.

“It was...” Addison shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. None of this matters now. I don't know why I’m even thinking about it.”

“Except that she needed you then, when she was using, when she was desperate. And you could be what she needed then.”

“Yeah? So?” Violet shifted, a slightly self-satisfied smile spreading across her face. “Oh, spit it out," Addison said, annoyed. “I know you think you _have the answer._ ”

“Sorry,” Violet said. “I was just thinking about the intervention we held, and how she was treating you then.”

“How she was treating all of us. She was awful to everyone.”

“Yes, but how was she treating you before that? You reached out to her, didn’t you? And she lied, didn’t she? She told you to butt out?”

“Oh, now I see where we’re going. You want me to get mad at Amelia, spill all these angry, angry feelings I have, and then you can pronounce me cured, right? Isn’t that what you shrinks do?”

“I’m not trying to cure you of anything, Addison. I'm just suggesting that maybe the reason you're so focused on what happened with Amelia was that back then, you felt like you could give her what she needed. And this time around, you couldn't.”

Addison stared at the floor, stone-faced.

“The funny thing is that the meaning is actually the exact inverse of what you're thinking. Back then, the reason she could let you hold back her hair when she puked and go to bed with her when she was drunk was that your relationship wasn’t what it is now. You were safe because you weren’t in her head. You didn’t know the real her." Violet was sitting forward, energized. Addison kept staring at the floor, missing the chance to tell Violet everything she had just said was ass-backwards wrong. “This time, you felt like she trusted you less than before, that she needed you less than before. And you kept thinking about the sex because you felt like that was a time when you were able to be there for her, be what she needed. But that wasn’t it, Addison. It’s the opposite. This time she couldn’t turn to you because she knew how much she was hurting you, how much harm she was doing. It didn't do you much harm back then if she was using, so she could do things like — well, like have casual sex with you, and you'd come out of it okay. But this time, she knew she was breaking your heart. That's why she was pushing you away. It's a sign that she needed you more, not less. And now that she’s in sobriety, she can show that to you. But now you're holding back, thinking about the past." Violet leaned forward, took Addison's hands in her own. “Go home, Addison, and talk to her. Tell her you get it now. Tell her you’ll do whatever you can for her _now_. Because she does need you now, Addison. She needs you more than she ever has before.”

Addison remained silent, staring at the floor.

“Addison?”

“Yes, you're right,” Addison said, standing up, letting go of Violet's hands. “I think that's great advice, Violet. I’m going to go do that right now.” She got up to leave, moving slowly. Violet watched her go, beaming.

Addison moved toward the elevator bank as if in a dream. She hadn't heard a word of Violet’s grand psychoanalytical exegesis. Her thoughts had been a million miles and fifteen years away, suddenly flooded with all the details she hadn't been telling Violet. A spill of dark hair across a creased pillow. Soft lips against hers, tear-wet but insistent, parting to let the tongue probe along the inside of Addison’s upper lip. Running her hands over a body knobbly with protruding ribs, skin lying slack against bone -- not a healthy body, but Addison caressed each rib, each inch of skin, trying to pour in enough love to make it well. Hands on Addison's shoulders, pushing her down; she’d never followed so willingly. And —

Addison fought back the imagery, the hot rush of remembered feel and smell and taste. She’d been trying to push this back for weeks, trying to erase bits of memory as they skated teasingly along the edges of her mind as she drifted off to sleep -- throwing an arm over Sam’s back to anchor herself in this moment, in the present-day, and then dreaming of Amy anyway. Addison had no idea if any of Violet’s interpretations had been right, since she’d missed three-quarters of them, but she knew that when she’d seen Amelia reverting to the Amy of all those years ago, she’d felt herself sliding back with her.

But Amy had turned back into Amelia again, and Addison needed to grow back up with her. She wasn’t even just Amelia -- she was Amelia frail, half-broken, trying to put her pieces back together again. And Addison was jealous as hell of Charlotte, Charlotte who was taking Amelia to meetings and sharing half-broken addict recovery stories and holding her hands and helping her to get through to the next thing. What was Addison doing? She was giving Amelia houseroom, and trying to ignore the barrier of _you-will-never-understand_ when she hugged her, and dreaming about her naked body at night. Point: Charlotte. And there was no point to Addison at all.

Addison felt a jerk and looked around her in surprise. She was still in the elevator, which had been sitting patiently on the first floor for who knew how long. Someone had just called it back up to the sixth floor — Violet, Addison realized. Violet was going to find Addison still in the elevator when it made its way back up, find her still mooning emptily, and then Viol was going to fill the elevator with her kind, sunny self-satisfaction at having solved all of Addison’s problems for her. Addison stared blankly forward for a second, unable to think. Snapping it out of it, she thrust a hand out with unnecessary force, slamming the button for the third floor. She’d take the stairs down from there, avoid Violet. Then she’d... what? Go back home and see Amelia, go back upstairs and dream of her there? Where was she supposed to go from here? Amy was there wherever she went.

She stepped out of the building into mercifully cool air and hung back a bit to make sure Violet was really gone. As she moved toward her car, her mind moved thoughtfully to the bar a few blocks away, to a glass of red wine. Or a scotch-rocks. Or a shot. Amelia had accused her of having a drinking problem, and while they'd both known perfectly well that Addison was not an alcoholic, she might have been right on a technicality, because right now Addison’s problem was that she couldn't think of a thing except drinking that would make her brain shut up and stop battering her with images she couldn't handle.

One drink, she decided, pulling the car into the bar parking lot. One drink, just to slow things down, help her get a hold on things. One drink -- maybe two, if she really needed it. No more than two. Or three. After three she wouldn’t be okay to drive, so it had to stop at three.

Six drinks later Addison staggered out the door to the waiting cab. She’d walk back to get her car in the morning, walk back and work this all out in her head as she walked, get it all straight. Things would look clearer in the morning. She’d figure it out. One way or another, this had to end.


End file.
